


A Stain Covers His Heart

by maryjo24



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Community: hoodie_time, Gen, Mental Breakdown, Self-Destruction, Suicidal Thoughts, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-01
Updated: 2012-12-01
Packaged: 2017-11-20 01:04:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/579597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maryjo24/pseuds/maryjo24
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post <i>Swan Song<i>, 5x22 - Dean made a promise to his brother, but in the end, he couldn't honor that promise.</i></i></p>
            </blockquote>





	A Stain Covers His Heart

**Author's Note:**

> Written for ’s Writing Between the Lines challenge, for [this prompt](http://community.livejournal.com/hoodie_time/333070.html?thread=4352014#t4352014) by anon. Title from 12 Stones' _World So Cold_.

In the beginning, Dean Winchester did what he promised his brother he would. After Lisa took him in, he moth-balled the Impala and packed away most of the tools of his former trade, guns, knives, machetes, stakes. He burned all his fake ID’s keeping only the one that was most solid, Dean Colton. After all, “Dean Winchester” still has a figurative price or ten on his head with various law enforcement agencies, not to mention the less human fringes of Earth. And he got himself a day job in construction, and really tried to make an honest go at the apple pie – white picket fence lifestyle. After all, that’s what he promised Sammy he would do.

But too many years moving on the run, living out of no-tell motels, and hunting, killing, all the evil things that go bump in the night left him no ordinary life experiences to draw from or the foundation to function in a non-supernatural world. And sure, he could try and fake that, but all the books at the local library or resources on the Internet couldn’t provide clues on how to recover from losing every literally God-damned member of his family to an apocalyptic war between Heaven and Hell.

_It not your fault, Dean. You’re suffering, baby, carrying all this guilt around and all the memories, and it’s tearing you apart. Just like any marine that served on the battlefield, it’s post traumatic stress disorder, and you can talk to someone about it, get help for it. No one expects you to deal with this all by yourself._

So, trying so hard to make it work, to keep his promise, Dean made an appointment with the shrink Lisa recommended.

_So Dean, I understand you lost your brother recently and you were actually there when it happened. What do you remember? Sometimes it helps to verbalize the experience._

After throwing up all over the doc’s pristine desk, he tears out of the office, vowing never to return. How can he possibly “verbalize” all the shit he’s been through, everything he’s done, and not end up in a rubber room, to protect humanity from his craziness?

So Dean tries to make it work on his own, the Winchester way - push things down, bury them deep, don’t talk about them and maybe they’ll go away. He tries to love Lisa and Ben the way they deserve, the best way he can.

But in the end, a shorting light in the garage, a sudden scritching noise behind him, and he was drawing iron on Ben. And Ben might very well have been dead too, if those same decades that denied him a _normal_ existence, did at least provide him the ability to recognize that the wide-eyed, fear-stricken boy pissing his pants in front of him was not a monster. And even as his finger was squeezing the trigger to launch the shot, razor-sharp reflexes were instantaneously pulling the gun up. As the bullet exploded in the wall above Ben’s head, Dean knew that he didn’t belong in this world, at least not right now, and probably never. That he was too stained to be among decent people. And he knew that if he stayed, that one day the nightmares would be too overwhelming and his reflexes too slow, Ben and Lisa would suffer for his weakness and sins.

Yes, Dean Winchester tried, but in the end, he couldn’t keep his promise to his beloved Sammy, so he left the peaceful, ordinary life to return to the only life, the only purpose he’d ever known.

~:~

_Hey Bobby, I’m here in Douglas. I thought Winchester was out the game?_

_What are ya’ talking about Rufus? Did you mean Dean?_

_Of course, Dean, he’s the only one still alive, isn’t he, or has that changed? You never know with Winchesters, like they have day passes from the afterlife or something. But yeah, I got here and the ‘walker’s been taken care of. I asked around and from their description, tall, muscular, good-looking, short dark blonde hair, sounds like Dean. Was flashing an FBI badge and going by Dean Colton._

_Damnit! Yeah, sounds like Dean. Well Douglas isn’t too far from Battle Creek. Maybe he heard about the killings, figured he’d take a day trip. Okay, thanks Rufus for the heads up, and sorry I wasted your time._

~:~

Dean continued to drive long into the night. Taking care of the skinwalker had been invigorating. He hadn’t realized just how much he missed the excitement of the hunt or the feeling of a job well done. Today he’d saved lives, or at least prevented more from dying. And if he was just a little bit more vicious and brutal than he used to be taking down the monster, it had fed a need in him. After all, better to take his revenge out on a monster than some poor innocent. Glancing over at the empty shot-gun seat, he could almost imagine Sam sitting next to him. Dean’s mood soured as he imagined Sammy bitchin’ about how he broke his promise.

“Sammy, I’m sorry, I really tried to make it work. But c’mon, you know how I am. I’m no good at this type of stuff. I was driving Lisa crazy and Ben, not the best role model for a kid. I don’t know how Lisa did it. She was always there, never complaining, holding me when I woke up from the nightmares, taking my shoes off and tucking me in when I was too drunk to do it myself. Sooner or later, she’d wise up and know I wasn’t worth it. But this? I’m good at this, I save people.”

He could almost imagine Sammy scoffing in disgust, but he would understand, understand what Dean wasn’t saying. It was better this way.

~:~

>   
> **EVANSVILLE COURIER PRESS**   
>  The body of an unidentified woman was discovered in Central Park by a local man out for an early morning walk. The police are not ruling out that this victim is the latest in a string of deaths that have plagued the park in recent weeks. However a source in the Medical Examiner’s office confirmed that this latest homicide is believed to be unrelated to the previous park killings. All previous victims had been mauled, as if by a large dog or wolf, this latest victim died by gunshot and showed no signs of having been mauled.   
> 

~:~

“I did good today Sammy. One more werewolf down, and you’d been proud, I didn’t let her get to me. Oh she tried, those baby blues blinking, sob tears spilling, telling me she’d stop, lock herself up when it was her time of the month. Shit, that’s kinda funny, huh? Said she’d do anything, and I mean **anything** Sammy. You always telling me that I let myself be led around by my dick, but not this time. You’d be proud, she got down on her knees, thought she had me, and then I popped her one, silver bullet, dead center.”

Dean looked over, and he could almost picture Sam looking sadly back at him. Maybe he wouldn’t have been proud, Madison had been rough on his brother. That one had been bad. But this one wasn’t the same, this girl had known what she was doing... shit he needed to stop somewhere, get a fifth of Jack, keep the voices, the pictures out of his head for another night.

~:~

>   
> **WGN 9 CHICAGO EVENING NEWS**   
> _“Today, police confirmed that alleged serial killer Dean Winchester had been spotted at a local, abandoned warehouse where three bodies were discovered. Police are still seeking Winchester for questioning in a string of brutal murders from five years ago and have added these latest victims to his growing tally. It was previously believed that Winchester died in Colorado along with his brother Samuel and several members of law enforcement when an explosion destroyed a local sheriffs’ office. However, witnesses identified Winchester as involved in today’s events.”_   
> 

~:~

_Well, of course they’re going to blame Dean for those deaths! He’s the one still walking around!_

_Don’t go bitchin’ at me, Bobby! I’m just telling you that Dean’s getting too much attention and he’s getting sloppy. It’s making some of the other hunters antsy. Roy and Walt were already in the area and got picked up by the cops. They’re spreading it around that Dean turned them in._

_Rufus, I know that boy like he’s my own son, and he’d never turn on another hunter like that. He’s going through a rough patch right now, I talked to Lisa, she says it got bad. Left weeks back and she hasn’t heard from him since. You just keep the others at bay, I’ll keep trying to get a hold of him._

“That was a tough one, Sammy, damn djinn! He was offering me another life, one with you and Dad and Mom in it, with real jobs, and mortgages, and family dinners. And it woulda been better than what the last one tried. I had Lisa and Ben, Ben really was my kid, and we worked out. Would it have been so bad to take him up on it? I’m so tired Sammy…”

Sammy looked back and shook his head, seems all he does lately is disappoint those he loves.

~:~

>   
> **BANCROFT IOWA**  
>  “The asshole just came in here, started drinkin’ up a storm."
> 
> "Challenged Jeb to a game a pool, he musta been one of them pool sharks. Got $300 bucks offa Jeb before he started mouthin’ off. He started talking to some guy like he was next to him, Sam or something like that, only he came in alone."
> 
> "I got a lot of respect for them veterans and all, but this guy’s a real whack job, got that PTSD or Agent Orange thing."
> 
> "Next thing we knew, he was beating up on Jeb, took four of us to get him off. We tried to keep him down, but shit, he’s fast and strong. I knew he’s packing, I just glad he didn’t pull it out.”

~:~

“That was close, huh Sammy? Just what I needed, get the adrenaline pumping, and made $300 bucks on top of that. Buy the good stuff tonight.”

Sam’s look spelled his disapproval. Dean felt the sting of that, and felt the anger.

“Don’t look at me like that! I’m dealing with this the best I can, shove it down, let it out every now and then. Stop trying to Freud me... You want me to fucking _verbalize_? Verbalize how I stole away your only chance at a normal life, and got your girl killed? Or how I shoulda died but then Dad sells his soul so I could live, and then I couldn’t do the one fucking thing he asked me to? Or that I yanked you back from death, probably out of Heaven, and then let you go to Hell instead? Only I was the one that was supposed to go to Hell, not you? Or shit, let’s not forget that I actually started the whole apocalypse mess. I was too fucking weak to suck my due and take what was coming to me! Just go the fuck away! Stop staring at me! I need a fucking drink.”

~:~

“Sammy, I didn’t mean it… please come back.”

~:~

_Bobby, this is getting out of hand. He didn’t have to burn the fucking house down! There were people still in it, they barely got out._

_He called in the alarm before he torched the place and you know damn well that the place had to burn. The psycho had wallpapered practically every single room with human skin. Those ghosts wouldn’t have gone to rest otherwise. You seriously aren’t suggesting that he should have peeled every single wall? There’s no way he could have gotten it all._

_I know, you’re right, but innocents almost died. And it’s not the first time, hunt or no. He goes out of his way to piss of the locals, just so he can beat ‘em down. Bobby, there’s talk that Winchester is a rabid dog, that he has to be taken down. One more hunt goes bad, it won’t be just talk anymore._

~:~

Dean Winchester stared at his brother, sitting shotgun, quiet as usual. He began to laugh, and laugh, and laugh. The sleek black Impala continued its trek long into the early hours.

~:~

>   
> **KLKN CHANNEL 8 EYEWITNESS NEWS LINCOLN NEBRASKA**   
> _“From the world of the bizarre tonight, the police and fire departments are busy mopping up a horrific crime scene in the red light district. Seventeen bodies have been pulled from the ashes of what was reputed to have been the headquarters of a cult-like group that practiced bizarre rituals and blood sacrifice. Residents in the area had reported an increase in the disappearances of pets over the past several months and one local, who asked not to be identified, claimed to have even seen what he believed to be vampires.”_   
> 

~:~

_Bobby, this shit is coming down! Jim Wilkins is dead, and his family’s done cutting Dean any slack. They’re planning on hunting him down and they ain’t planning to give any quarter. They say it’s a public service. And as much as I hate to admit it, they may be right. I know he’s like family, but he’s too far gone._

_Rufus, please, for all the good that kid’s done, everything’s he’s sacrificed, try an’ hold off the hounds for bit longer. Right now, they’re running on emotion, Dean didn’t kill Jim, vampire nests are tough to clear out, we all know that, it’s an occupational hazard. Tell the Wilkins to pull back, think it through first. Dean’s not responsible._

_That’s just it, maybe not directly, but he was like crazy kamikaze in there, a hunter died, and three civilians. I was there, I saw him. He’s in bad shape, looks like shit… Bobby, I heard him yell for Sam like he thought he was there. And the look in his eye, hell his eyes period, there’s nobody home. Hell, I’m not convinced he’s still human. He’s taken out a lot of bad shit lately, he may have got himself turned, lots of candidates on his score card the past few months. Turned or just plain crazy, it may be better to just put the kid out of his misery. And if he’s turned into something not human, a Winchester monster means a shit load of trouble for the rest of us. Bobby, I know it’s not right or just, but open season’s been declared on Dean Winchester._

Dean Winchester pulled the Impala up in front of the last room of the group. The desk clerk had given him a look and wrinkled his nose in disgust when he’d asked for a double for the night, but he’d backed down pretty quickly once the hundred was flipped up on the counter. _Hell, you try living out of your car for three weeks and see how ripe you smell, asshole._

“C’mon, Sammy, got us a room. And I get first shower! So don’t even think about it.”

Dean threw his duffel as usual on the bed closest to the door, and raced for the shower. Now that Lincoln was a distant blur in the rearview mirror, they could finally rest up a bit. That had been a nasty piece of work and he swears he can still feel the blood dripping through his fingers.

Dean stood motionless against the wall, the spray pounding his skin sloughing off dried flakes of brown, the water running down the drain pink at first, then vivid red. Flashes of the melee suddenly assaulted his senses; blood dripping from the walls, the coppery tang heavy on the air, the kids screaming, the vamps, and… oh God, Jim Wilkins, the kids, the vampires attacking, tearing into flesh, ripping out throats… Wilkins’ son screaming, _Gonna kill you Winchester!_

As Dean slid down the wall of the shower, he began to giggle, then laugh, harder and harder, until finally he ran out of air. As he gasped for breath, the choking gasps turned into sobs. He cried uncontrollably until finally, sitting on the moldy shower floor of yet another cheap motel room, freezing water pouring around him, Dean Winchester experienced, clarity.

Scrubbing his body with the sandpaper the motel generously called a towel, he painstakingly removed all traces of blood, real or imagined, until his skin burned pink. He forced himself to stare in the mirror, maneuvering the straight razor across his cheeks and chin, scraping away weeks of growth. Running his fingers through the overgrown, unruly locks on his scalp, he grabbed scissors and quickly trimmed them back. Dropping the towel to the floor, he walked back into the room and pulled on a loose pair of sweatpants. Grabbing his phone, he ran through his list of contacts, trying to ignore the always silent Sam, now staring at him pitifully. 

“Don’t look at me like that, you know it’s gotta be done.”

He needed to find someone close, no telling how much longer he could hang onto his sanity; there, Chuck Russo, if he’s at his Missouri home base, he could be here within a day. And better yet, he’s good friends with the Wilkins. This could work. Before he lost his nerve, Dean quickly punched the send button.

“What the fuck? Winchester?”

“Yeah Russo, back atcha. Hey, I’ve got a case here, could use some backup, a rugaru and you’re close. I’m in Muskogee.” As the silence stretched, Dean could almost imagine the gears turning, stripping a few cogs along the way.

“Sure… I’m not home so it’ll take u… me a couple of days.”

“No problem, just got to town myself. By the time you get here, I should have our long-pig connoisseur figured out. Texting you my location.”

~:~

_Bobby! Jimmy called me, said Dean Winchester’s surfaced in Nebraska and he called Chuck Russo of all people, what the Hell was he thinking? Wilkins’ rounded up a lynch mob and are headed his way, but you’re closer so you can probably beat them there._

_The idjit! Send me the information, and we’ll get to him before he pulls off hari kari by hunter. How soon can you get there?_

_I’m back east, sorry but I’m gonna have to sit this one out._

_Okay Rufus, thanks for the heads up. I’ve got it from here._

~:~

It wouldn’t be long now, and Dean was grateful for that. Sitting, just waiting, wasn’t sitting right with the crazy he barely had control over. Only one more night in this room and by this time tomorrow, his ashes would be mixing with the dirt, it’d be over and done. Pushing away from the sink, he padded back into the room, nodding to Sammy, sitting silent and cross-legged on his bed just as he does every night. Tonight though, something’s off, and as a tingle rides his spine, a gasping breath snaps his attention to the front door.

Glancing back to the bed, Sammy’s still sitting there silent, looking at the door and then back at Dean. But then, Sam seems to shimmer right before he fades into nothingness. Turning back, Dean faces the image of another Sam shifting nervously, smiling, his hands outstretched like given half an invite, he’d wrap his big brother up in a hug. 

_A trick, it has to be a demon trick, because there’s no other way that Sam could be in his room. Wait, but he has been in every room, every night for months. He’s sat shotgun in the Impala, bitching about the tunes. Hasn’t he? Maybe, but just not talking. Oh right, the crazy. Because Sam’s dead, saved the entire freaking human race and now he’s bouncing around in the cage with Lucy and Mike. Gotta be demon, only ones that would try this shit. Can’t let the demon take him._

It had been so long since he’d seen Dean, Sam was caught up in the emotion of the moment, wanting to touch him, feel his big brother pull him in, tell him every thing was alright. He was so close, the pain and agony of the last few months finally worth it, but then he really looked at his brother as he darted over to his pack. Suddenly Dean was turned back, Ruby’s knife clutched in his fist, and of course Dean wouldn’t, couldn’t believe it was him.

“Christo,” Sam said past the knot hard as a fist at the back of his throat. “Cut me with silver, Dean, give me some holy water to drink. I’ll drink it. I’ll do anything so you’ll believe it’s really me. I’ll do whatever you want.”

Dean, knife in hand, had a sneer on his face masquerading as a half-smile, the way he did when he’d been backed into a corner and knew the odds were against him. He was silent. His eyes, which usually were anything but, were silent (nobody home). He moved slightly closer, and that was silent too, and Sam saw that his feet were bare, pale and oddly vulnerable looking. He’d been on his way to bed. But now what he thought was the ghost of his brother was here in his motel room and he wouldn’t be getting any sleep tonight. Sam knew what that felt like well enough.

“Dean,” he said. “Castiel got me out, okay, but the demon blood... I told him not to fix it. I just... I had to go through it all, by myself, you know, so I’d never...” He swallowed with difficulty, locked his jaw. “I had to make sure I was safe before I came to you, Dean, and I am now. I swear to god I am now. “

Dean tapped the knife against his thigh. “Well, I’m not,” he drawled.

“What?” Sam said desperately.

“Safe,” Dean whispered, shifting his weight left to right and back, cobra-like. Sam watched, mesmerized, as Dean raised his arms, one fist wrapped around the knife hilt, the other flat, palm down. And his eyes, those eyes were no longer silent, instead madness screamed from the very depths of Dean’s soul. Sam knew in that moment, that the stories were not exaggerated, that his brother was gone, but he wasn’t too far gone, he couldn’t be. Dean had survived and come back from Hell, he’d come back from this. Reaching out to Dean, his arms spread wide and unthreatening, Sam pleaded.

“Dean, yes, you are. Bobby’s outside, we need to take you outta here. There’s hunters, coming for you – “

“I know, I called them, I’m not safe to be around anymore. I can’t be saved.” After expecting the crazed ravings of a madman, the cold, emotionless delivery of Dean’s suicide note was frightening. But it meant something sane still remained, Sam hoped he could appeal to that and stepped closer to his brother.

Suddenly, Dean leaped; throwing himself hard against Sam’s chest, the right hand dragging the knife up in a wicked uppercut that would have slit through the carotid artery had Sam’s reactions been any less sharp. Blocking Dean’s wrist hard with a bone-jarring slam, he expected the knife to fall from nerveless fingers, but Dean’s reactions were just as sharp as he rolled away, dragging the knife across Sam’s arm. And then they were both back on their feet circling around, seeking the upper-hand. 

“Dean, it’s really me. I bleed red, I came to you unarmed.” Sam paused, putting everything he had into his final plea, “I’ve been to Hell and back, I need my brother, I need his help to get me past that. Dean, please, you’re the only one I’ve got left, I **need** you, don’t leave me all alone.”

Dean hesitated, shaking his head in confusion.

“Sam’s. Dead. Gone. Hell.” The words first spoken emphatically, repeated but now there was the barest trace of doubt, of hope, “Sam’s… dead?”

“No, I’m not. I just want, need, my big brother back. Please, come with me?” He stretched his hand out to his brother, the blood from the cut dripping in a pool of red on the threadbare carpet.

“Sammy?” The name breathed out like a drowning man looking for a lifeline and Sam didn’t hesitate, moving quickly to wrap his arms around his brother’s waist, laying his head in the crook of his shoulder. “Dean.”

“Sammy.” Sam felt home as Dean’s arms came up around him, the knife clattering to the ground. Tentatively, his hands touched Sam’s back as if by allowing himself the barest hope, Sam would pop out of existence like a soap bubble. Instead, Sam hugged back harder, and Dean let hope blossom, forcing disbelief back. The madness still screamed in his head, good things never happened to Winchesters, but he let himself believe in Sam and maybe this Sam could help him find a way out, a way home.

~END~


End file.
